


the last living part of you

by bstarship



Series: the risk of moving on [4]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Father-Son Relationship, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Not Spider-Man: Far From Home Compliant, Parent Tony Stark, Peter Parker Feels, Peter Parker Has Panic Attacks, Peter Parker Misses Tony Stark, Peter Parker Needs a Break, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Peter Parker doesn't get a hug, Precious Peter Parker, Sad, Sad Peter Parker, Tony Stark AI, Tony Stark Does What He Wants, Tony Stark Feels, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Tony Stark is Good With Kids
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-04
Updated: 2020-03-04
Packaged: 2021-02-28 01:14:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,896
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22995304
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bstarship/pseuds/bstarship
Summary: FRIDAY's voice spoke loud and clear: “Now transferring file #616-3 to Peter Parker.”Peter raised an eyebrow. None of the other files had done that. “What’s that mean, FRIDAY?”But she didn’t answer. Instead, the only sound echoing through the room was a tiny beep coming from a distant workbench. He followed the sound, eventually finding that the source was some new design for a web-shooter. Peter held it close, examined the blinking red dot underneath, and pressed it.A low buzzing filled the room as a holographic stream fluttered in front of him. Slowly, the lasers began to define the shape of a figure, and Peter assumed that he had blacked out after that.He blinked once, then twice, and many more times after. He couldn’t believe his eyes. Staring right back at him was Tony Stark––but he was a goddamn force ghost.orA few years after Tony's death, Peter realizes that no one is ever truly gone. And Tony personally made sure of that himself.
Relationships: Peter Parker & Tony Stark
Series: the risk of moving on [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1654279
Comments: 10
Kudos: 109





	the last living part of you

**Author's Note:**

> so pretty much i'll never get over tony stark's death. thank u n i hope u enjoy x 
> 
> also ! if u would like, follow me on tumblr !

On the eve of Peter’s eighteenth birthday, he wandered up to a roof and sat there for hours. He counted every plane, every car, and every dog that passed by. A cool breeze carried wisps of hair away from his forehead while he rubbed his eyes dry. He didn’t want tomorrow to come. He didn’t want to blink his childhood away, not when he had already spent the past four years of his life wishing to be someone else. Peter wanted to feel like a kid for one more day.

He tugged on his mask and sighed into the material. Hot breath brushed his cheeks as his heads-up display came to life around him.

 _“Good evening, Peter,”_ Karen spoke sweetly. _“What’s on the agenda for tonight?”_

“Nothing,” he said. His tone fell low, almost atmospheric while the city lights stole his attention. “No danger for tonight. I don’t really wanna die right before my birthday. That’d suck.”

 _“Of course,”_ she replied. _“We wouldn’t want that. Happy early birthday, Peter. Would you like me to sing you a song?”_

Peter let out a breathy laugh. “No, please, no. Just––thank you, Karen. I appreciate it. Thank you for always being here for me.” He kept his hands clasped together in his lap. They were comfortable that way, and he was afraid that if he let go, he would want to climb up walls and swing down empty avenues. He wanted to sit as still as possible. And for as long as possible.

 _“I will always be here for you, Peter,_ ” Karen said. _“Is everything all right? Your heart rate is low.”_

He took a breath. He could talk to her; he knew that he could, but there was something holding him back. Once he said his thoughts aloud, then that meant they were true. “I’m not ready for tomorrow,” he answered. “It’s––it’s not like any other birthday, you know? I’ll be eighteen. It’s just––” Peter shut his eyes. “I don’t wanna move on yet. I don’t wanna start another life. I-I just wish he was here.”

When Peter opened his eyes again, his vision had glazed over. He couldn’t wipe his tears, so tilted his chin toward the sky.

“Two years,” he whispered, inhaling sharply until his lungs ached. _Exhale slowly. Count to ten. And again._ “It’s been two years. And it still doesn’t feel real. I really thought I’d get to this point with him, you know? I think that’s why I’m not ready for tomorrow. We kept talkin’ about where I’d go to school. We talked about things like that. He joked about me never being allowed to drink on his watch, even when I turn twenty-one. But then he’d talk about being there with me to celebrate it. He acted like he had our entire life planned out as if––as if we were _father and son_. I’m just not ready to face tomorrow, Karen. I don’t know what to do.”

 _“Tomorrow is a big day_. _”_

Peter looked down at his hands. “Yeah,” he said. “It is.”

 _“Your friends and family are excited to spend it with you_ , _”_ Karen continued. _“Pepper Potts has asked me to extend an invitation to you and your aunt for lunch tomorrow. She says she figured you might have dinner plans but that she’d love to see you.”_

“Really?” Peter sat up a little straighter. “She did?”

 _“She also wanted me to tell you that Morgan misses you_.”

He smiled to himself. “I miss her, too. Could you tell Miss Potts that I’ll be there?”

_“Of course, Peter.”_

He slid the mask off after that. The sounds of the city seemed to grow louder at night, but he enjoyed the ambiance. He didn’t want to go off to school, not yet. Through the years, Peter had lost sight of home. He struggled to understand what it meant, whether it was concrete or abstract, especially when it came to his life. And he was afraid to leave the one place––the one _piece_ of home––he had left.

He didn’t have much family beyond May. But he had Tony’s family. Peter still had tomorrow.

And when tomorrow rolled around, Peter had forgotten about his night spent on the rooftop. He was engrossed in the deep green foliage on the drive upstate. He was captivated by May’s off-key singing and the comfort of the new sweater she bought for him. Lastly, he felt loved. He felt like he belonged somewhere. It was natural.

Pepper prepared a lemongrass chicken for lunch, and Morgan gifted him one of the finest bracelets out of her handmade collection. He swore he was never going to lose it or take it off. After that, they played with superhero action figures until Pepper called them for lunch––Peter got to be Iron Man because Morgan insisted on being Spider-Man, and he would never say no to her. He was going to spoil her at any moment he could.

He still couldn’t believe he had his own _action figure_. It was too good to be true.

Everything _felt_ good too—he had forgotten it was even his birthday. Everything was perfect and peaceful, and then Pepper suggested that Peter spend some time in Tony’s old workshop.

Peter had only been there twice before, but never for long. He found it too difficult to use the same tools his old mentor once had—instruments were left untouched as they collected dust, only for Peter to disrupt them with his sticky fingers.

So, when he stepped into the workshop for a third time, he promised himself that he wouldn’t leave. He breathed in the stale air, watched the lights flicker over every shiny object that screamed Tony’s name, and strolled around slowly. Life had once been in that room. A life that lived for five years after Peter was believed to be gone. It was a man who carried on, who, for once, set his suffering aside to abide by his own terms. Tony restarted his life in this room.

Peter felt wrong there. Like every step he took was trespassing on sacred territory. Tony’s workshop was a sanctuary. And Peter didn’t belong there, not anymore.

He memorized every inch of the place. He imagined Tony leaned over a workbench, soldering iron in hand while his wrists cramped from constant use. He imagined the stack of empty coffee cups by the sink and the unread emails piling up while he promised himself that he would read them (he never would). Peter imagined the two of them together, silent communication with spared glances as they worked on their suits for hours on end. It was sad to imagine that it would never happen again.

Finally, Peter allowed himself to find a sense of comfort. He spent an hour or two repairing old armor that had been left in rags, and he even considered trying it on for a change. But he couldn’t bring himself to get that far.

When his hands grew tired, Peter sat at Tony’s desk. Once again, it was a place he didn’t belong, but Peter didn’t want to move. Tony always knew how to pick out the best––and the comfiest—chairs.

“FRIDAY,” Peter spoke suddenly. “You there?”

 _“Hello, Mister Parker,”_ she greeted. _“It’s been quite a long time. What can I do for you?”_

Peter huffed. “Man, that’s a loaded question.” He thought for a moment and tapped his fingers along the desk. The glass monitors in front of him had collected a thick coat of dust, so he wiped them off with his sleeve. “Is there–– _ew gross_ ––is there any way I’m able to get into these babies?”

_“You have access to everything in Tony Stark’s public and private databases.”_

Peter’s jaw went slack. “You’re serious?”

“ _Very serious.”_

“Holy shit,” he muttered, watching the screens light up in a familiar blue glow. It really did feel like his birthday after all. “I don’t even know where to begin. Could I see all of the Iron Man files?”

_“Would you like me to open all 3,406 Iron Man files?”_

“Oh, crap, no,” said Peter. He hardly knew where to keep his eyes; the utter awe and excitement he felt had grown more than he wanted to admit. “That’s a lot of files. Just show me my options and then we’ll go from there.”

 _“Sure thing_. _”_

As it turned out, three thousand files hardly compared to the extensive list of unfinished projects Tony kept stored. Peter had stumbled upon at least a hundred prototype designs of his first Spider-Man suit––along with a hefty load of new additions he’d never see with his own eyes. Among Tony’s files were outdated weapons tech that had never met the light of day once Iron Man was born. Peter felt undeserving of all of this information.

The folders with funky titles caught his eye the most. They always ended up being something with little substance, like an embedded link or a two-second video of a gauntlet combusting. Both folders were titled _“Fuck this shit”._

And then Peter came across a folder called _“My brain (Literally). Do not open”_. So, obviously, he opened it.

FRIDAY's voice spoke loud and clear: _“Now transferring file #616-3 to Peter Parker.”_

Peter raised an eyebrow. None of the other files had done that. “What’s that mean, FRIDAY?”

But she didn’t answer. Instead, the only sound echoing through the room was a tiny beep coming from a distant workbench. He followed the sound, eventually finding that the source was some new design for a web-shooter. Peter held it close, examined the blinking red dot underneath, and pressed it.

A low buzzing filled the room as a holographic stream fluttered in front of him. Slowly, the lasers began to define the shape of a figure, and Peter assumed that he had blacked out after that.

He blinked once, then twice, and many more times after. He simply couldn’t believe his eyes. Staring right back at him was Tony Stark––but he was a goddamn _force ghost_.

“Whoa, whoa, okay––” Peter set the web-shooter onto the workbench behind him, yet the hologram didn’t budge. “FRIDAY, what is this?”

 _“The file says ‘do not open’, kid,”_ spoke the holographic Tony, and Peter thought he was about to throw up. It even _sounded_ like Tony. It moved like him, too.

And then the realization hit. This was an AI.

Tony shrugged. _“But, I guess, what did I expect?”_ he continued. His voice sounded metallic, almost static-like, but it was still him. _“Maybe I wanted you to open it. Well, I guess I should explain. Once upon a time, I was bored and found a way to reconstruct my entire physical form as a holographic entity. Like a piece of cake. And not only that, I was able to transcribe every little darn thing about me into computer code to preserve my memories, knowledge, and, dare I say it, my_ ** _boisterous_** _personality which everyone loves so dearly. So, all-in-all, hi, I’m Tony Stark. Well, his essence.”_

“I’m gonna shit my pants,” Peter whispered.

_“Please don’t do that. That’s disgusting.”_

He wanted to fall to his knees. It wasn’t real, it wasn’t real––but it _was_. It wasn’t a person, it wasn’t alive. It was a bright blue hologram that spoke and behaved exactly like Tony Stark, and Peter felt sick to his stomach.

The panic began in his jaw. Trembling and aching while his eyes refused to believe what they saw. His throat tightened after that, and once the pressure crawled down into his lungs, Peter couldn’t hold back the threatening sobs. He did end up falling to his knees, but only because he couldn’t breathe.

He pressed his shaking hands down onto the cold floor while his vision darkened. Everything had become numb, and he wasn’t sure he could hear his own wheezing anymore.

“S-shit, I-I can’t––” Peter tried to sit himself up, knees pulled to his chest while he struggled to even his breathing. A snake had wrapped itself around his lungs. “I can’t breathe––I can’t breathe.”

The blueish glow of the AI reflected off of the floor tiles as it neared Peter. When he looked back up, Tony had knelt down in front of him. Even his suit seemed to wrinkle. But it wasn’t _real_.

 _“Whoa, there, Pete,”_ Tony said, _“it’s okay.”_

Peter could hear his heartbeat thudding in his ears. He glanced down at his lap.

_“Hey, look at me.”_

Peter looked back up at the AI.

Tony smiled. _“You’re okay. Deep breaths now. Ready?”_

Peter nodded, swallowing thickly.

“ _Inhale.”_

As best as he could, he took a long, deep, shaking breath in.

_“Exhale slowly. Count to ten.”_

He let out the breath. One… two… three…

_“And again.”_

They sat there for a few minutes while Peter calmed down. The numbness faded, and while his lungs ached, they no longer felt restricted. He could feel his muscles slowly begin to relax. And he soon realized that Tony had placed a hand on Peter’s shoulder.

But he still couldn’t feel a thing. The touch wasn’t there.

Peter stretched his legs out in front of him as Tony finally sat down. “He––he–– _Tony_ made you for me?”

 _“Yeah, well_. _”_ The AI shrugged. _“I wasn’t really made for intended use. Technically, you’re supposed to be dead.”_

Peter sighed and dug his fingernails into the denim of his jeans. “I was,” he said. “But that was years ago.” Further thoughts nagged at his brain, but he couldn’t find the right words. He let them sit at the tip of his tongue.

But, despite not being a physical existence, Tony seemed to know exactly what Peter wanted to say.

 _“Kid,”_ Tony said softly, eyes sad and warm.

“You’re dead, Mister Stark,” Peter stated abruptly. “You’re––you’re the one who’s dead.”

 _“I know_.”

“You know?” Peter asked. He didn’t like that he could see right through Tony.

Tony nodded. “That’s what I’m here for,” he said. “I was made for this. I wouldn’t be here if I was alive.”

Peter didn’t like the sound of that. He had accepted Tony’s death long ago; he hadn’t expected to see him, let alone talk to him again. Peter was sad, but he was angry. Angry that Tony had decided that his presence was too precious to let die. Angry that he couldn’t let Peter move on.

He swallowed down the rising anger and asked, “when did he make you?”

 _“Uh, 2018,”_ Tony answered. _“Oh, hey, it’s your birthday, innit? Happy birthday, kid. Consider me a birthday gift from me.”_

Peter rolled his eyes and cracked a smile. He didn’t have the energy to be mad. Tony wasn’t alive anymore; he didn’t deserve it.

 _“Whatever you need, Pete,”_ the AI spoke, _“you always got me. I was made for you.”_

Peter’s smile grew a little bigger. “Thank you, Mister Stark.”

The sounds of shoes coming down the stairs stole their focus away from the moment. Peter glanced over at Tony with wide eyes.

“Peter?” It was May.

Peter scrambled to his feet and ran toward the workbench behind him. His fingers shook as he searched for the button to turn off Tony's ghostcomp. Just as the hologram flickered away, May entered the workshop.

“Are you okay if we–– _whoa_ , this place is––” May gazed around at the handsome technology surrounding her. “––intense. Like Disneyland for you. Is that one of your web-shooters?”

Peter set the device back onto the table and nodded. “Y-yeah. It’s not finished, though. Prototype.”

“Well, take it with you, and then you can work on it at home,” said May.

But, Peter shook his head. “No,” he said, walking towards her. He looked back over at the spot where Tony once stood. “I think I’m gonna leave it here.”

___

_“Finally. It’s about time. Ten thousand years can give you such a crick in the neck.”_

“You know _Aladdin?_ ”

“ _Do you know exactly how many movie premieres I’ve been to, Pete?”_

Peter chuckled. He had come home from college for winter break. What had been Tony’s old home sat like a relic, one Peter could hardly stand to touch, yet it was well-lived and full of his life, his legacy. Pepper and Morgan treated him as though he had always been a part of their family. It was time for him to make use of the family he had.

And, he couldn’t deny that all he wanted to do was lock himself away in Tony’s workshop and just _talk_.

To a being that didn’t even exist.

“I don’t mean to be rude, Mister Stark,” Peter began that afternoon, “but you should have made yourself into another Vision. And then you could at least _help me out_.”

 _“Yeah, but I really like doing nothing and just watching you,”_ said the AI, hands stuffing deep into his hypothetical pockets. _“You’re doing that wrong.”_

Peter looked down at the Spider-Man suit that he’d peeled open to access the inner subsystems. Truth be told, he had no idea what he was doing. Ever. He spent the past two years in constant trial and error over his suits, all because Tony wasn't there to help him. And now Tony was there, and he wasn’t helping him.

“You’re a terrible AI,” Peter mumbled.

_“Now that just hurts my feelings.”_

“You could at least tell me what to do.”

_“I could.”_

Peter rolled his eyes, but he kept it as hidden as possible. “Why am I not shocked that Tony created you just to be as much of an asshole as he was?”

The Tony AI pretended to gasp. _“Cuts deep. But don’t forget the Class-A narcissism.”_

“How could I ever forget that?”

 _“You’re surely on a sarcasm frenzy today,”_ he said. _“Anything on your mind?”_ Tony folded his arms and leaned against a table. It looked almost realistic, minus the blue, ghostly tint.

Peter shook his head. It was still odd to see Tony that way, and it was also comforting all the while. It was like he had him back but not quite. While it was Tony, it also wasn’t. He didn’t exist anymore.

 _“I’m not convinced,”_ the AI muttered. He had every vocal inflection and physical mannerism that Tony did, which bothered Peter the most.

“No, nothing’s wrong.”

 _“I didn’t ask if anything was wrong,”_ said Tony. _“I asked if anything was on your mind.”_

Peter shrugged. He didn’t look up as he carried on maneuvering the wires in his suit. “Nothing is on my mind. And nothing is wrong. I’m fine. Maybe I just wanna be sarcastic today.” He glanced back over at the AI and sighed. “Could you just help me. Please?”

A disheartened expression washed over Tony, one Peter hadn’t seen before. He nodded. _“Yeah, sorry. Sure thing, kiddo.”_

“And, I’m not a kid anymore,” Peter mumbled. “I’m an adult.”

 _“Nope, sorry,”_ Tony said, _“you’ll always be my kid.”_ He cracked a grin and reached out his hand. Peter believed it was to ruffle his hair like his mentor used to do, but the realization quickly hit, and Tony pulled away. And he looked sad about it.

While the afternoon dragged on like normal, there was an unspoken feeling hanging in the air. Tony knew that Peter wished he was real, and Tony wished he was real, too.

___

Peter had planned on stopping by the workshop on his nineteenth birthday, but he never got the chance. The night before, he spent eleven hours stuck in his suit because he didn’t want to go home––the summer dragged, and not even Spider-Man could save it. On his birthday, he let May take him into the city for a peaceful day out, but his senses never allowed him to relax. Peter didn’t think about the AI he kept hidden away upstate.

He never took Tony with him, but he’d thought about it over a dozen times. Somehow, it felt wrong. It felt wrong to remove him from a place that Tony belonged. Even though he had been created for Peter––even though the system had been crafted into his own web-shooter––it still didn’t feel like it. Maybe it never would.

 _“Believe it or not,_ ” said Tony, _“I do miss you when you’re not around.”_

Peter wanted to laugh and roll his eyes at the hint of sarcasm, but he couldn’t. He lacked energy. He wished he was home.

“What do you do when I’m not here?” Peter asked, gaze lingering on the blueprints of his brand new suit. Well, it wasn’t necessarily brand new, but after falling from a building only for a _tree_ to catch his fall, there were too many snags and tears to sew up. So, he figured he would take the time to add a few improvements.

_“I’m just ones and zeros, Pete. I don’t do anything.”_

Peter frowned. “Yeah, sorry.” He minimized the blueprints and sat down at the desk with a long sigh. “Why’d Mister Stark even bother making you, then?” Peter mumbled aloud, rubbing two fingers along the bridge of his nose. “You just stand there and talk. What’s the point in having you if you can’t even help?”

_“Pete––”_

“No!” Peter suddenly exclaimed. A fit of newfound anger had boiled over. “I’m––I’m so _annoyed_ that he thought he was being so clever with you when all he did was make a shitty version of himself. I’m tired of you just standing there. I’m tired of you just _telling me what to do._ You can’t help. You’re not him, so there’s no purpose. Like you said, you’re just ones and zeros. You’re just a stupid code.”

The AI barely moved; for a moment, Peter assumed that he had shut him down with his words.

 _“You’re right,”_ he uttered with a shrug. _“I’m useless. Just a code.”_ Tony walked over and sat on the desk, his movements disrupting the hologram while his legs disappeared briefly. He used to be alive. He used to have a real body. _“But honestly, Tony didn’t make me to be another Tony.”_

Peter titled his chin up, but his frown didn’t budge. “What do you mean?” he asked lowly.

 _“I’m a ghostcomp,”_ Tony said. _“A ghost-on-a-chip. I was made in case Tony died, but I’m not a replacement. He figured that his death would be too sudden. He figured he’d had to leave just as fast as you left him. He wanted to make sure you had something at least a little concrete.”_

“He made you because he knew that I’d miss him?” Peter sat up, eyebrows furrowing. “That’s bullshit.”

_“I don’t think he was ready to say goodbye either, kiddo.”_

Peter shook his head. “Stop. Please.”

 _“The real reason––”_ Tony began as stood. He walked over to where his hologram was being projected from. The web-shooter. _“––is that I was designed to be a helping hand when you’re in the suit. Technically, you’re not using me the way Tony wanted you to.”_

“I don’t care,” Peter said. “I don’t want you in the suit.”

Tony looked at him. His expression was unreadable. It was like the words had hurt his feelings, but he didn’t have the right programming to emote them. He nodded. _“That’s fair. It’s your choice.”_

And Peter nodded, too. Slowly, he rose to his feet and walked over to where the holographic Tony stood. Peter tugged his hands into his sleeves. “I’m gonna go see if Morgan wants to hang out,” he mumbled. “See you later, Mister Stark.”

Tony’s lips tightened into a weak smile. _“See you later, Mister Parker.”_

___

Peter was ready to go back to school. A few days after his twentieth birthday, he kept his mind busy and his muscles burning as he swung up to White Plains. He hitched rides from there on out, and Pepper always greeted him on the porch with a pitcher of ice water.

“Morgan’s at a friend’s,” she sometimes said.

And Peter would breathily reply, “May is at work. Is it okay if I––?”

Pepper always interrupted with, “of course” and a smile.

There were many things in the workshop that had been rearranged over the years, but Peter kept most of it the way he found it. He didn’t want it to become _his_ workshop, which, in his mind, it almost had. He wished he could pack it up and take it to school with him, but it was a nice home away from home to visit on special occasions.

On this particular day, the bad thoughts in Peter’s brain had won the fight. He climbed out of the suit, made his way down to the workshop, and curled himself onto Tony’s chair.

It was _Tony’s_ chair _._ The chair that had belonged to Peter’s mentor, the person he had looked up to ever since he was nearly eight years old––and now he was sitting in his chair, crying over the fact that he spent more time grieving Tony than personally knowing him. But then again, Peter realized, Tony had done the same thing, too.

It hurt more today, Peter couldn’t deny that. It hurt to be in the same room Tony had once been in––he had once _lived_ in. The past four years were hard, but some days were harder.

He wasn’t sure if he wanted to speak to the Tony AI today. But, nevertheless, Peter picked himself up. He held the web-shooter in his palm, internally fighting with his thoughts before brushing his thumb over the button. He pushed it without hesitation, and Tony came to life.

 _“Hey? You look so glum, kiddo. What’s up?”_ Tony stuffed his hands into his pockets.

Peter set the web-shooter back down and shrugged. “Bad day,” he said, strolling over to the desk so he could flop himself back into the chair. “That’s all.”

Tony hummed. _“Damn,”_ he said. _“Sorry to hear that. Well, we’ve got quite a few things in here that could get your mind off of it. What do you say to a little holographic basketball with some trashed files, yeah? And before you ask, yes, we can do best two-out-of-three.”_

“No.” Peter shook his head as he wiped his nose with his sleeve. “No, I don’t really wanna do that.”

Tony’s eyebrows knotted together. _“What do you wanna do, then?”_

Peter shrugged again. “I-I wish––I wish I could hug you,” he whispered.

The AI’s expression relaxed.

“I wish you were here.”

 _“I am here,”_ said Tony.

Peter let out a huff. “But you’re _not_. You’re not here. You’re not you. I want Tony back. I want _my_ Tony back. Not a hologram I can put my hand through. I-I can’t hug you. I can’t help you build your suits, and you can’t help me build mine. You can’t go out into the world and _live_. You can’t––you can’t take me out to lunch. You can’t be with your wife and your daughter. You can’t drive me upstate or make me coffee I’ll never drink. We can’t do superhero shit together because you’re _dead_. You’re not alive. And you haven’t been for four years, and for some reason, it still feels like yesterday. I’ve done so much. I’ve changed so much. B-but I come back to you, and I’m just reminded of how much I loved being around you. How much I _loved_ you. You just––you can’t be there like Tony was there. You’re not _him.”_

Tony stayed quiet. It seemed as though he hadn’t been programmed for such an emotional range. But then he said, _“I’m sorry”_ so softly, and Peter felt the impact of his words. He had truly meant them, and he knew there was nothing else he could do.

___

_“Whatcha packin’ up there, Pete?”_

“Just a few things Pepper said I could take with me.”

_“Where are you going?”_

Peter’s college career had come and gone. His life had never been so different, and it was time to let change run its course. New York was still home, but sometimes home wasn’t necessarily a place. And Peter understood that. He needed to do a bit more living, and that required moving on.

“I got a job,” he said, stacking a few of Tony’s old belongings into a large box, “in New England.”

Tony grinned. The light from his hologram had dulled through the years, and Peter never found the time to fix it.

 _“Look at you, Mister Parker,”_ said Tony. _“All grown up. I swear you were just fourteen and getting your ass beat by Cap.”_

Peter chuckled. “I would go back in a heartbeat. Not to high school, though. High school sucked.”

_“I literally don’t even remember high school.”_

“It’s a blur,” he said. He lifted the box onto Tony’s desk and leaned against it. The moment felt sad and surreal. Peter couldn’t find the right words, so he fiddled with the edge of the cardboard instead.

_“You okay?”_

Peter glanced over at Tony. He hadn’t aged a day. “Sorta,” Peter said. “I’m––I’m not taking you with me, you know. And I’m gonna be gone for a while. Are you gonna be okay without me?”

 _“Pfft.”_ Tony rolled his eyes. _“I lasted five years without you. I’ll never be okay.”_

Peter smiled sadly. He still wished he could hug him. “I’ll miss you, Tony.”

_“I’ll miss you too, kiddo.”_


End file.
